


The Only Way To Find Good Help Is To Raise It Yourself

by questbedhead



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-06 11:47:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15194126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questbedhead/pseuds/questbedhead
Summary: Marlena Hallwinter often joked that the only way to find good help was to raise it yourself. Then she’d pat one of her boys on the cheek, and whoever she was talking too- bakers or store clerks or people about town- would laugh. A little nervously, maybe, but they’d let themselves believe the simpler interpretation of her turn of phrase.And if whispers about the too-thin figures that lurched through the Hallwinters’ fields in the early morning reached some high-minded city folks or daring do-gooders, well, Marlena had +5 to persuasion and a (figuratively) killer peach cobbler that usually smoothed things over. People, however good or righteous they think themselves, prefer to turn a blind eye to family matters.





	1. Chapter 1

 

“Don’t they remember us?”

 

Sildar’s mother looks up at him from the bottom of the cellar steps. In the faint dawn light he can just see them, grasping skeletal hands restrained by rusty red shackles. The spell that animates them grants the caster control, but only for 24 hours, so it needs to be recast every morning. Marlena flicks her wand and the skeletons calm. She trades the wand for her preferred guitar and with a few strums the restraints start to fall away, lifted by an unseen servant. His mother motions to him and he carefully makes his way down the creaky steps.

 

“Well, none of ‘em would remember _you_ , Silly. They all died long before you came around.” She takes a list out of her blue jean jacket and starts to assign the daily chores, reminding each skeleton to lock themselves back in when they’re done for the day. “Though the ones down here haven’t been dead all that long. S’why they’re still so ornery. Once they’ve been around a ‘lil longer they’ll start to remember who they were.” She sees the uncertain look on her sons face and gives a hearty laugh.

 

Leaning down to kiss the top of Sildar’s head, she says “Now now, don’t go feeling sorry for these old bones, they knew what they were gettin’ into when they went down. I’m sure Uncle Andy wrangled more than a few of his relatives back in his day too, right Andy?” She pats a skeleton on his bare skull. It nips at her, catching the sturdy material of her jacket in it’s teeth. “See? He’s remembering me already! I never liked you neither, asshole.”

 

Despite the harsh words she pries herself away gently, sending Uncle Andy off to work with a smile. She turns back to Sildar with a sterner expression. “Don’t you go mouthing off to them, though. You gotta respect the dead, Sil. They work hard so you can have an easy life while you’re living.”

 

Sildar nods absently. He’s heard this too many times in his short life for it to warrant his attention. “What about Daddy? Has he been dead long enough to remember me?”

 

Marlena winces like she’s been hit, but she covers it with a weak smile before Sildar can react. “No, baby, he….. Daddy didn’t really have time to meet you before he died. He wouldn’t recognize you, however long he was dead.” She kneels down to pull her son into a hug, and he fits himself naturally against her. Her soft grey hair tickles his nose as she squeezes him tightly.

 

When she pulls away her smile is much brighter, though her eyes seem a little _too_ bright. “But I’m sure if Dad were here he’d be happy to see you anyways. He loved you so, so much, Sildar, even though he had to leave before you were born. He’d be so proud of what a clever little boy you’re growing up to be!”

 

Sildar wrinkles in nose, “I’m not _little_ , I’m _six_.”

 

“Oh yes, my mistake,” There’s a laugh in her voice. She starts to stand, scooping his legs from under him to lift him up with her. “Sometimes your old Mom’s as forgetful as these boneheads. But I remember now, you’re a big, _mature_ boy, and Daddy would be very proud of that.”

 

Placated, Sildar let’s his mother carry him up out of the cellar. “Where did Dad have to go? Why couldn’t he just come back?”

 

His mother sighs gently. Trying to kick the cellar door closed without overbalancing them, she says, “He went to go help his side of the family. The Blau-Garbers. Remember the fancy ring we have? It looks like a little blue shield.”

 

“It’s a coat of arms.” Sildar says. “Albus told me about ‘em.” His half-brother had actually gone through all the little symbols on the Blau-Garber ring with him some time ago, but Sildar had forgotten most of it. He knew his father’s family were supposed to be very important people, but he’d never met any them, and he found it hard to care about people who didn’t even visit when he could be reading stories or practicing his magic. “If Dad’s with them, why don’t we go visit? They don’t live that far, right?”

 

Marlena sets him down so she can lock the cellar door. “He’s not helping them the way our dead help us. Daddy’s family owns a lot of land, and around when you were born some people tried to take some of it. He went to help them defend it.” She sits back on her heels, her expression carefully neutral. “It didn’t go well. There was a big fight, and they were outnumbered. They told me they didn’t have a chance to bring any bodies home.” Sildar hears a bit of strain creeping into his mother’s voice, like when she’s trying not to yell at his older brothers. “So, we don’t really know where he ended up.”

 

Sildar hadn’t been very impressed with his father’s people before, and this does not improve his perception. “Well, _we_ could go find him. It’s not very _respectful_ to just leave him wherever.”

 

His mother chuckles at his tone and ruffles his hair. “Maybe when you’re just a bit bigger, you could go and look. In the mean time we got to take care of our family here at the farm. It would be pretty damn disrespectful to just let them wander all over the country side, and I doubt the folks down in the village would appreciate it either.” Marlena shields her eyes and looks out over her fields, lit golden and soft in the lasts dregs of sunrise. Sildar looks out over them too. The little hill their homestead rests on is just high enough that he can see above the wheat stalks. Uncle Andy’s bleached white skull bobs in and out of view as he cuts down the grain with his scythe.

 

As the second sun finally creeps over the horizon Marlena gives one last little sigh and turns towards her youngest. “Could you go get Harris and Al up? Tell ‘em I want them to make breakfast and then help you brush up on your cantrips. I’ll join you boys once I get everyone organized for the day. Now, no promises, but I think-” She leans down and taps Sildar’s nose playfully “-That if you can manage all your cantrips with no mistakes, we might have time to teach you a real first level spell before dinner. How’s that sound to you, kiddo?”

 

Sildar beams up at his mother, thoughts of dead and missing family momentarily forgotten. “That sounds amazing! I’ll get them up right away!” as he sprints towards the door to the house, his mother calls to him one last time.

 

“Hey, Sildar! What’s the family motto?” 

 

He turns back to her, half through the doorway and smiling brighter than two suns combined. 

 

“Good necromancers don’t fear death. They embrace it.”


	2. Chapter 2

It’s a few years later before Sildar really thinks about his father’s family again. He comes across the surname in a history book, just an off-hand mention that the Garber family had split into factions after the fall of the Great Kingdom- but for the first time in his life he makes the connection between himself and _holy shit **those** Garbers?_

“Well, which Garbers did you _think_ they were, child?” Aunt Kitty says, looking up from her darning. The cracked socket of her yellowing skull is completely empty, but Sildar can tell she’s rolling her eyes in spirit.

Sildar squirms on the beaten up old couch across from her. Aunt Heather, Kitty’s equally skeletal sister, wander’s back and forth from the libraries shelves, piling everything she remembers mentioning the Garber’s on the table between Sildar and Kitty.

 The Hallwinter library, or more accurately the barn where the Hallwinter’s stuff all their books, is the largest collection of books for a hundred miles, but it’s terribly eclectic. They have plenty of spellbooks and pulp novels and old almanacs, but not much covering any kind of social studies. Most of what Heather places in front of him are old folk tales, fanciful stories of chivalrous knights from a golden bygone era. Not the kind of people who leave their relatives to rot after failed land disputes.

“Oh dear, I don’t think any of this will be very helpful….” Aunt Heather looks a little helplessly around at the musty shelves, bony hands nervously fluttering around her missing lower jaw. She fusses with the little stack of books as she settles beside Sildar on the couch. He tries to reassure her that _it’s fine Auntie, really_ , but that seems to make her fussier, which makes Sildar nervous in turn. He can feel Kitty judging them from across the table.

 Aunt Heather and Aunt Kitty, who are really something like his second cousins three times removed, are some of the oldest undead on the farm. They’d long exceeded the fifty years of undeath they’d promised to spend helping the family, but Heather refused to go to her final rest while there were still things she hadn’t read, and Kitty refused to rest without her sister, so the two of them stayed up together and gently terrorized their living relatives with their contentious dynamic.

The books Aunt Heather gathers aren’t entirely useless; he get’s a clear sense that the Garber’s where considered kind, hardworking people in earlier times. One of the folk tales has an illustration of a knight holding a shield painted with the family arms, a simple gold field with a shaft of wheat and single, small sun hanging over it. He vaguely remembers Albus’s explaining that the wheat was supposed to symbolize generosity? Or maybe just abundance? Either way, the humble knight inked on the pages feels like far cry from the gaudy ring his father left them.

Sildar fetches the ring and his big brother from the house and drags them both to the barn so they can make a proper comparison. The ring’s far more decorative. The little shield is wreathed by intricate, sapphire studded filigree leaves and a scroll with ‘ _In Deinem Licht Gedeihen Wir_ ’ written in elegant cursive. Still, it’s the same humble wheat and sun combo, with just a slight variation.

“It’s called a barry,” Al explains, pointing to the horizontal blue stripes that break up the gold of the original Garber arms. “A barry of six _Or_ and _Azure._ S’mostly just a way of differentiating similar arms, but some people says it’s symbolic. Like, they _bar_ the way of temptations or evil or whatever. Dad used to joke that they were defective.” Albus twists the ring around his finger absently. It’s far too big for him, even though he’s eighteen and almost an adult. “’Cause they never stopped his family from being shitty.”

“Well, they certainly haven’t stopped your potty mouth, child,” Kitty says. Sildar is very glad she doesn’t have eyes to glare at them with.

“Hey, I’m just a step kid, I’m immune to the barry’s. They’re Sil’s problem.” Al picks up Sildar’s hand and puts the ring onto his ring finger. It slides off and onto the floor as soon as Sildar puts his hand back down.

Kitty sniffs, despite her lack of nose. “Sildar’s problem is that his older brothers are a bad influence. You’ve spent too much of your lives gallivanting around the country in caravans and too little time getting your mouths washed out with soap.”

“Did you learn this all on the road?” Heather interrupts from her place beside Sildar. “I didn’t think we had any books on heraldry here….”

“Yeah, it’s pretty much all from Gregor,” Al says. “He had a lot to say about his family, but none of it was good.” He picks up the ring from the floor and looks through it at Sildar. “They might have been cool way back in the good ‘ole days, but now they’re nothing but two-bit warlords with delusions of righteousness. Sorry, Sil,” Al ruffles his brothers hair affectionately. “I’m sure that’s not what you wanted to hear.”

“It’s fine, I guess, I just…I don’t get it?” Sildar stares at the gaudy ring that’s all he has of his father. “If he disliked them so much, why’d he go help them? He could’ve just stayed here, with us.”

Al and his Aunts are quite for a moment. 

Albus sighs and puts his arm around his younger brother, tucking Sildar into his side. “It’s not- I mean, they were his family too, right? And it’s just, it’s _hard_ not to want to think the best of them-“

“You _just_ said he thought they sucked,” Sildar says, squirming out from under Albus’ arm.

“Well, yeah, he said that….” Al sighs again and looks at his Aunts for help, but they’re silent as the grave. “Ugh, it’s like…. Like we give Harris shit all the time, right? But that doesn’t mean we don’t care about him still, yeah?”

Sildar makes a face at this, and Al snorts. “Don’t give me that Sil, of course you care about him. He’s a jerk but he’s our jerk. And I guess these guys,” Al waves the ring a bit “Well, these guys were Dad’s jerks. That doesn’t mean he didn’t love us too, he just… loved a lot of people. Differently. He loved a lot of very different people, in very different ways and it’s just….”  

The room goes quite again. Sildar looks at his half-brother, waiting for him to finish, but Albus just sits in silence, twisting the giant ring around his thumb with a frown.

It feels like an eternity before any of them start to notice Sildar squirming in the awkward silence. Albus puts the ring down on the pile of books and rubs his hands over his eyes. Aunt Heather slides her skeletal arms around him and gently presses her face to the top of his head in lieu of a kiss.

“Families are complicated, sweetheart,” She says. “And it’s hard to tell what they’re really like from the outside. I’m sure we would seem just as strange to the Garbers as they do to us.”

Al barks a sharp laugh, earning him a light kick from Kitty. Ignoring them, Heather slips off the couch so she can kneel in front of Sildar. She takes the ring from the table and presses it into Sildar’s hands, folding his fingers around it. The gemstones dig into his palms uncomfortably.

“The point is,” Aunt Heather says, “We shouldn’t judge Gregor or the Blau-Garbers too harshly. You can’t… you don’t always know how much people mean to you until it’s too late. Your father was a good man, and if he wanted to help them we should trust that they were worth helping.”

Aunt Heather pats his cheek and stands up abruptly, clearly looking to wrap up the conversion. “Now! Albus, will you be a dear and help me put these books back? They go over by the back shelf, yes, that one….”

Al and Heather start to sort out the books and Kitty goes back to her darning, leaving Sildar sitting unsatisfied with nothing but the gold and blue ring. After a few minutes he leaves the barn and returns it to the drawer in his mother’s bedside table. The shape of the gemstones leave imprints on the skin of his hand for the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My grasp of heraldry is definitely imperfect, to say the least, but here's a quick summary of the symbolism:  
> Gold (or _Or _): represents glory, generosity, constancy and elevation of the mind.__  
>  Blue (or _Azure _): signifies piety, sincerity, loyalty and chastity__  
>  Wheat sheaf (also known as a Garb): Hope for a good harvest  
> Sun: Glory and splendour (Though a single sun in a two sun world probably has a different meaning...)  
> Barys: Are the horizontal stripes across a feild (though they're only called that when there's an even number) and Historically they are just for differentiating similar arms, or including another colour that has it's own meaning. But some people interpret them as "sets the bar of conscience, religion and honour against angry passions and evil temptations." which I just think is neat.   
> ‘In Deinem Licht Gedeihen Wir’: is German for 'In your light we prosper'


	3. Chapter 3

While the undead do most of the work on the Hallwinter farm, the living aren’t completely free from chores.

“Were goin’ down to the village. Move your ass, Dare.”

Harris doesn’t wait for Sildar to answer before turning down the path towards the gate. Sildar wriggles out of the porch hammock. He gives Grandy, the large, pristine skeleton idly plucking their lute beside him a kiss on the cheekbone before running to catch up with his oldest half-brother. Grandy hardly takes notice of either of them, continuing their slow, simple song as the boys make their way down the hill.

“Why can’t you make Albus go with you?” Sildar grumbles.

“Albus is coming too, we’re meeting him at the stable,” Harris says. “You’re coming anyways. You need to spend some time around people who haven’t been dead for a million years.”

“Grandy hasn’t been dead that long. They’re only a few generations from Kitty and Heather, right?”

Harris laughs. “Who told you that?” He asks.

“I mean, no one said that…” Sildar says, “I thought they were their grandparent?”

Harris jogs ahead a bit so he can turn and face his little brother as they walk. He’s wearing the same wicked smile he usually wears when he wants to tease his siblings.

“Oh no, Grandy’s far, _far_ older then any of the others. They were the first one raised when Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-Great-” Harris walks faster and faster with every _great_ , making Sildar rush to keep up.

“Harris, wait-“  
“Great-Great-Great-Great-”

“Harry, _stop it_ -”

“Great-Great-Great-” Harris stops suddenly, stepping to the side as Sildar barrels past him. As he turns back around Harris grabs him around the waist and throws Sildar over his shoulder. He carries him through the main gate to the farm and continues down the wide dirt road with his little brother squirming in his grip.

“Lemme _down_ , you _jerk_ ,” Sildar says, twisting to try and kick Harris in the face. Harris adjusts his grip so Sildar is hanging nearly upside down along Harris’s back, with only his brother’s grip on his legs to keep him from falling.

“’Ya Sure that’s what you want, Dare?” Harris laughs. Harris calls him ‘Dare’ because Sildar is skittish, and he thinks he’s clever. Sildar thinks he’s an asshole.

“If you fall behind you won’t get to hear the truth about Grandy,” Harris says, “’Cause no one else is ‘gonna tell you.”

“Why not?” 

“Cause it’s a secret, dingus.”

“So why would _you_ tell me?” Sildar says. He stops squirming, and Harris slows his pace a bit so he can readjust his hold again. Sildar ends up half-leaning, half-clinging to his brother’s shoulder while Harris supports his legs.

“Look, do you wanna hear this or not?” Harris asks. Sildar hesitates, then nods before realizing that Harris can’t really see him.

“Tell me.”

“Okay, the truth is…” Harris draws the last word out dramatically. “That Grandy isn’t really a Hallwinter.  They didn’t choose to get raised and help the family, they’re just some poor sap one of our ancestors enthralled.”

Sildar jerks back, nearly tripping them. Harris stops and lets Sildar lean back far enough to look him in the eyes. Harris’s expression is carefully blank.

“You’re lying,” Sildar says.

“No duh, dumbass.” Harris says.

This time Harris doesn’t resist as Sildar squirms out of his hold. He laughs as his brother sulks over to the other bank of the road, putting the dirt path between them. Sildar ignores him and keeps walking.

“No, but seriously, I’m not sure Grandy was originally a Hallwinter.” Harris says, keeping pace with his brother from the other side. “They can’t really be Hin, for one thing, they’re _way_ too tall. They gotta be on of the big folk.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” Sildar says. “ _I’m_ not really Hin, but I’m still a Hallwinter.”

“I mean, technically you’re a Blau-Garber,” Harris says. “But you’re still at least half a Halfling. Grandy’s like, 5’6. There’s no way they’re related to us.”

“You don’t really _know_. They could just have married into the family, or been adopted.” Sildar says. “Or even if they weren’t that doesn’t mean they didn’t choose to help.”

Harris raises a brow at him. “Why would they _choose_ this if they weren’t already family?”

Sildar shrugs, “Why not? I mean they get to be alive again.”

“Sildar,” Harris stops and looks at him sternly from across the road. “They’re a _fucking skeleton_. They’re not _alive_ , they’re _undead_. There’s a big difference.” 

Sildar shrugs “Yeah, okay.”

“No, like-” Harris jogs across to him and grabs his arm. “That’s, that’s a _really important difference_ , dude. Tell me you get that.”

“I said _okay_ , I get it. Let go!” Sildar shakes his arm and Harris releases him. Harris looks down at him with a frown for a moment, but eventually he starts walking again in silence.

When they get to the Arrington stables Albus is there fiddling with his amulet as he practises his Cleric spells. Al was planning to leave home and be a follower of Yondalla eventually, and while the family did their best to be supportive, everyone agreed it’d be best if he kept his holy symbol away from the non-living members of the family. Sometimes he would practice in his room or the peach orchard, but usually he came out to the stable were there was no chance of a skeleton stumbling into his space.

Al had already saddled Old Paul. The Hallwinter’s had owned Paul since he was a foal but he’d been boarded at the Arrington’s farm for most of his life. Chickens, goats, and the occasional cat or dog could get used to the undead eventually, but horses were nervous by nature, and the family learned long ago it was best not to try and keep them on their own property.

Their stable stall has a set of steps to help them onto Pauls broad back. Harris lifts Sildar and settles him at the front, with Al behind him and Harris himself in the back. Al takes the reigns and they start making their slow, plodding way towards the village. The sky overhead is a little overcast, with just hints of lavender peaking between the clouds, and it diffuses the summer suns just enough to make the day pleasantly cool.

Final Port is about ten miles from the farm. It’s a fairly large village, boarding on a town. The little harbour is the last stopping point on the Drull river before it reaches the ocean, and while most big ships don’t bother with the little riverside settlement, the wharves are often full with pleasure crafts and up-river farmers looking to buy and trade goods.

Al leads Old Paul through the cluster of houses at the outskirts of the village and into the market near the shore. Harris slides off the back by himself, then takes out his wand and casts unseen servant to help his brothers down safely. A few people stare, but mostly out of curiosity. The villagers know the Hallwinter’s well enough not to be bothered by them unless strange things started happening. Though, whether those strange things were actually connected to the Hallwinters never seemed to matter much.

Once all three of them are down Sildar starts to head towards the market, but Harris pulls him back and points to the port itself.

“We can handle the shopping, Dare. Go down to the docks. There’s always a bunch of kids playing around the reeds, you should go say hi.”

Sildar blinks up at his brother, looking from him to the sliver of water he can see between the market stalls. “But I- I don’t know any of them!” He says.

 Harris rolls his eyes, “Yeah, Dare, that’s why you should talk to them. You can’t get to know people if you don’t interact with them.”

“Harry, I think we should stick together.” Albus says, putting his hand on Sildar’s shoulder. “There’s a lot of- lots of people here today, I don’t think-”

“Oh my god, he can manage on his own for an hour. We used to hang around here all damn day when we were his age.”

“That was when Aunt Dolly was still teaching! Y’know before she got _run out_?”

“I thought Aunt Dolly left to go to university?” Sildar says.

Harris and Al turn to him. They’d leaned closer to each other as they argued, keeping their voices low even though they’re both clearly agitated. Sildar’s interjection was loud by comparison, and while it doesn’t quite dissolve the tension between his big brothers, Harris steps back and straightens out, regaining composure.

“That’s _right_ , Dare,” He says. “Dolly maybe wasn’t the most popular teacher with the parents down here but, she left ‘cause she wanted too, not cause there’s some big conspiracy against us.” Albus takes a long breath in and squeezing Sildar’s shoulder as he glares at Harris. Harris glares right back. “Al, he’s nine years old and he doesn’t have any fucking friends. He needs to hang out with someone his own age for once.”

Albus looks like he’s about to object but stops when Sildar shakes him off his shoulder. “Fine. I’ll go.” He says, stomping off towards the docks.

“Sil, _wait_ , he didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine.” Sildar says through gritted teeth. “I’m going.”

“Meet us back here at second high rise.” Harris says. “We should be done by then.”

Sildar doesn’t say anything to that. He loses sight of his brothers quickly in the market’s crowd, but he can still just hear them over the murmur of shoppers.

“ _Gods_ , Harry, did you have to say it like that?”

“Hey, just because he spends all his time with _you-know-what’s_ doesn’t mean he has to have such a thin skin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hin is what Halflings actually call themselves, according to the forgotten realms wiki.  
> I'm...trying to find a witty way of explaining why Barry is Half-halfling here when he definitely isn't in cannon without spoiling things and kinda failing so like. I'll I can ask is that you trust that it's gonna get addressed. Later.


	4. Chapter 4

Sildar doesn’t go down to the docks. Instead he wades into the crowded market in the vague direction of the shore and tries to interest himself in the stalls, but there’s not much for a nine-year-old boy. Most of it is food or fancy baubles to attract the folks out sailing for fun, with a few more practical stalls with fare for the local farmers. Sildar doesn’t really care for kitschy things and his brothers didn’t give him any money to buy snacks or supplies, so all there’s left to do is wonder in the throng of people.

 He doesn’t much care for that either, especially since there’s a lot of big folk at the market today. They tower over and surround him, making him very aware of the space he occupies. Eventually the busy press of bodies starts to make him feel lightheaded. Sildar jostles his way out of the thick of the market and onto a little side street that tapers into a trail heading shore-ways. He starts to head down it but stops half way and settles himself down under a large mulberry tree. The dirt path below it is stained blue-black from the fallen berries but right around the base is clear. Sildar sits against the trunk and sulks.

Harris isn’t entirely wrong- he doesn’t really have friends outside his family, but so what? Sildar doesn’t _like_ most of the people he’s met off the farm anyways, especially other kids. Most of them don’t read the books he likes or study the magic he loves or even live anything like the life he and his family live. The fact that the Hallwinters are necromancers is an open secret, but it’s still technically a secret, and Sildar finds it incredibly awkward to dance around the subject.

Sildar resolves to spend the hour he has under the shade of the mulberry. He shifts to lay down in the sparse grass between the tree and the road, staring up through the berry-laden boughs. He can just barely make out the position of the smaller sun through the cloud cover as it slowly makes its way to the center of the sky. The cool air and soft sunshine sooth his wounded pride and soon he drifts off to sleep.

 

It doesn’t feel like long before he’s startled awake by the sound of a shriek. He jumps up and sits down again just as quickly, disoriented from waking up in an unfamiliar place. As he get’s his bearings he notices a group of kids racing up the path from the shore, laughing loudly as they try and trip each other up.

They soon descend on the mulberry tree. A human girl a bit older than Sildar jumps to grab a low branch and hauls herself up without sparing him so much as a look. The rest of the group, three halflings around the same age and a much younger human, whine at her from the ground, trying and failing to reach high enough to get up themselves.

One of the halflings, a shirtless boy with shaggy wet hair, steps back from the tree as if to study it, looking for a way to get up. He ends up looking at Sildar instead, blinking at him as if he’s just noticed there was someone other than his group here. He waves hesitantly, even though Sildar is only about two feet away from him.

Sildar waves back from the ground. A few of the other kids wave too, offering distracted _“Hi!”s_ before returning to the problem of the tree. One of the halflings has managed to reach the branch by standing on her friend’s shoulders and is trying to find a perch where she can pull the others up without falling. The shirtless boy is still looking at him curiously. Sildar is effectively paralyzed by his gaze.

“My name’s Annie,” says a voice from above him. Sildar looks up to see the human girl lying along the branch above him. She smiles at him and reaches out to grab one of the thinner branches, pulling it towards her so she can pick the berries off. “I’m from up the river. Where’re you from?”

“Uh….” Sildar’s mouth feels very dry. All of the kids are staring at him now. Everyone but the shirtless boy is in the tree, staring down at him from the branches like a flock of crows.

He hesitates too long, prompting the shirtless boy to come over and nudge him with his foot. “You’re not from around here, right? I live in the village, an’ I never seen you before. Did you sail down for the day?”

Sildar stands and backs up, a bit wary of the boys bare, berry stained feet. “I’m from here. I live inland, on a farm. On-on my family’s farm. I’m Sildar,” He steels his nerves and extends his hand toward the boy, “Sildar Hallwinter.”

The boy’s smile brightens as he recognises the name. He ignores Sildar’s hand to call up to his companions, “Oh yeah, I know ‘bout you guys! His mom’s the witch with the peach orchard. My dad says they use magic to grow stuff.” He turns back to Sildar. “Is that true?”

Sildar squirms, trying to resist the urge to cross his arms as he retracts his neglected hand. “She’s really mostly a bard? And kind of a wizard. And we don’t really use magic to grow things just…just to do chores and stuff.”

Shirtless Boy seems disappointed by this, but Annie perks up. “What kinda magic? Do you know any cool spells? My mama’s girlfriend taught me some cantrips.” She leans down from the branch, extending her hand towards him. A shower of multicoloured sparks rain down on him. The other kids ‘ _oooh_ ’ appreciatingly.

Sildar raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Yeah, I guess that’s alright,” he says. Then he fishes out his wand, casts spider climb on himself, and walks up the trunk of the tree.

The kids shout in excitement as he walks right past them. He turns and crouches against the trunk and looking down at their amazed faces he starts to feel…. not _settled,_ but not so sickly anxious as he was when they first showed up. Annie and the others pester him about spells, and he situates himself properly on one of the lower branches so he can show them the cantrips he knows. Sildar sets the five of them shrieking again when he levitates the shirtless boy (who’ s name he learns is Milo) letting him bounce himself weightlessly from branch to branch.

Sildar is finally starting to really relax when he’s startled by a worried shout, “What the _fuck_ are you doing!?”

Sildar’s concentration breaks, ending his levitation spell and sending Milo crashing to the ground. For a second he’s quiet, the wind knocked out of him, but then he starts to cry, clutching his ribs as he lays on the ground. A gruff looking halfling man, who’s approach had gone unnoticed by Sildar and the other kids, scrambles towards the boy and touches his arm gently.

The man glares up at the kids in the tree. “Get down here. All of you. _Now_.”

The five of them oblige, crawling sheepishly to the lowest branch so they can swing down safely. The gruff man tries to sooth Milo, clucking disapprovingly as he feels over his ribs. Sildar realizes he recognises the man as the owner of the general store in the village. He name is…Overbridge? No, Overside. Sildar has only met him once or twice when he’s been in town, but from the look Mr. Overside’s face, he guesses he’s been recognized too.

“Now, just _what_ were you doin’ to my kid?” growls Mr. Overside.

The sick, anxious feeling settles back into Sildar’s stomach. “We were just- just playing, I was showing-”

“Just _playing_? Do you think it’s _appropriate_ to be playing with forces like that? To be, just, _throwing people around like that_ -”

“I wasn’t throwing anybody! It was levitation, he would have been fine if you hadn’t yelled at me!” Sildar exclaims.

As soon as he says it he wants to take it back. Mr. Overside’s face goes red as a tomato as he stands up. He’s a full head taller than Sildar, and much, much broader. Sildar backs up into the tree as Mr. Overside bears down on him, face twisted into an angry snarl, “You listen here, _young man-“_

“Sildar!” Albus shouts. Mr. Overside turns sharply. Coming down the little street are Al and Harris, Al’s holy amulet shining weakly in the diffused daylight. The glow points ahead of them, creating a faint shimmering cord that points towards Sildar. He looks up briefly and sees the two suns hanging close together to the west. He must have been asleep much longer than he’d thought.

Sildar’s brother’s hurry down the road towards him. Mr. Overside backs off slightly but he still radiates anger. He kneels down next to Milo, who’s still clutching his ribs and sniffling wetly. The other kids have pulled away from the scene as far as they dare. They stand awkwardly a little down the path, as afraid to stay as they are to leave.

Al pockets his amulet as he reaches the mulberry and puts his hand on Sildar’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly. Sildar doesn’t look at him, eyes fixed on Mr. Overside and Milo. Again, he feels very aware of the space he’s occupying, of the room he takes up, and he’s scared if he moves even a little bit Mr. Overside or Milo or Al or Harris will just start yelling at him again, and if they do he’ll start crying, which is stupid. He’s not even the one who got _hurt_.

Harris kneels down carefully next to Milo. “What happened, Morro? He alright?” Harris asks.

Mr. Overside glares at him. “What happened is your brother was misusing those fancy magics you lot use up at your place! He was _levitating_ my Milo like- like I don’t _know_ what, but I know it’s not proper to be usin’ down here!  And with all these young ‘uns too, really, I expect the older kids to be more responsible!”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Al says, putting his arm around Sildar’s shoulders. “Milo should have been more responsible.”

“ _Albus_ ,” Harris warns.

 “I’d assume _your_ kid knows how _you_ feel about magic,” Albus continues. “So as the older one here he should have told Sil to stop.” Albus looks down at Milo. “Did you ask him to stop?”

“Um…no?” Milo’s mostly stopped crying at this point. He’s looking at Sildar with a baffled expression that has Sildar wishing someone would yell at him instead.

Mr. Overside’s expression is equally confused “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Sildar’s only nine, he just looks older cause he’s, you know, _tall_ ,” Harris says.

Everyone stares at Sildar. He shrinks into himself even more, hugging himself as if he could squeeze his frame into something smaller. He knows he’s much larger than a normal halfling child should be at his age and he hates calling attention to it, hates having to explain about his dead human father and his distant human family every time some stranger guesses his age wrong.

Harris sighs and rubs his hand over his face “Look, I think this is just a, just a misunderstanding. I shoulda reminded him not to play around with magic, that’s on me. But no one seems to be seriously hurt, so, let’s- can we just move on? You know, let bygones be bygones and all.” Harris half stands, offering an extended hand down to the Oversides.

Mr. Overside shifts awkwardly, pulling Milo a little closer to himself. His glare has less force, but he still looks angry. “Someone _could_ have gotten hurt, playing with forces like that. ‘Aint right. He shoulda known better.”

Harris blinks a moment, then retracts his hand, standing to his full height. He looks down on the Oversides coldly as he backs up to stand with Albus and Sildar. He turns to his brother’s. “Yeah, you know what, I think we’re done here. What you think, Dare?”

Sildar finally properly looks at his brothers. He feels a subtle shift in the atmosphere, one that helps sooths his nerves. Harris and Al aren’t angry with him. Al’s arm over his shoulder is a comforting weight and he let’s himself lean into it, fitting himself against him.

“Yeah, let’s go,” He says.

Mr. Overside grumbles as they walk away, but he makes no move to stop them. Sildar looks back briefly. Milo’s still looking at him curiously. The other kids have effectively disappeared.

Sildar turns away and doesn’t look back again. They three brother’s maneuver they’re way through the market to were Harris and Al left Old Paul and their purchases. Harris leads the horse over to a nearby porch so they can climb onto his back.

“No conspiracy, huh?” Albus grumbles.

“Shut the fuck up, Al.” Harris grumbles back.


	5. Chapter 5

“Well, now, _conspiracy_ is just a bit harsh.” Marlena says. Sildar and his mother are kneeling by the flower bed at the right side of the porch. Albus rolls his eyes from the bed on the left. Harris hangs in the hammock, trying to match whatever Grandy’s playing with his flute while Kitty and Uncle Saul peer over the railing at their living relatives. Marlena plucks her guitar slowly, staring down a dark red peony withering in the damp soil. An unnatural blight has rolled in from across the river and while their crops are protected by magic, the grass and flowers are dry as a bone. “It’s not like anyone’s plotting against us ‘r anything, folks just get a bit paranoid around magic.”

“’A bit paranoid’ isn’t harsh enough,” Al says from the other side. He’s trying to coax his own bed of flowers back to life with his holy symbol. Kitty and Saul shuffle a little closer the right, though Grandy seems unbothered, strumming serenely in the muggy summer air.

“Overside was just being an ass, Al. He’s the exception, not the rule,” Harris says. Sildar can’t see his brother’s face from his vantage point, but he can practically hear his tired scowl.

“That’s not completely true either Hare, there’s plenty of people ‘round here that feel the same as Morro,” Marlena says. “A lot of farmers don’t trust magic as a rule.”

“Why?” Sildar asks, tugging on his mother’s jean jacket. He’s long since given up trying to do anything with his wand and is half-leaning on his mother as she strums. Wizards spells don’t do healing, and he can’t exactly drag the piano out to try the few bard’s spells he knows.

Marlena looks down at him with a quirked brow, then leans over her guitar and gently pokes a peony. It’s petal’s fall off in a clump, leaving an unsightly bare spot on the drooping flower.

“Why do ya _think,_ Silly?” She says. Up on the porch Saul snorts through his chipped teeth.

Sildar frowns at the adults. “But it’s only like that because we _didn’t_ ward the flower gardens! If we weren’t using magic, the fields would be like this too!”

“Ah, but _nothing_ would be like that if there was no magic at all,” Uncle Saul says, leaning over the rail. “That’s always how it goes when disaster strikes! Curse the rains when there’s a flood and curse the suns when there’s a drought. Doesn’t matter how helpful or even vital they are the rest of the time, when it’s hurting you and yours it’s the enemy!”

Aunt Kitty sighs. “That’s the kind of logic these people employ. They don’t understand it, so it must be wicked. I’m sure they’ll be blaming _us_ for this curse when all their crops are decimated.” She sniffs. “Idiots. It’s their own fault for not being prepared.”

Marlena levels a stern look at Kitty. “Auntie, you can’t expect- “

“But they know it’s not us, don’t they?” Sildar interrupts. “Al, you said the baker told you it was coming from Palith, right?”

Albus leans far back so he can look at Sildar around their mother. “Her names’ Malica, Sil. And yeah, she says there’s a siege or something, but like- that doesn’t _matter_ to them. They’ll still be mad that we’re the only ones with a good harvest. ‘Cause, y’know,” He gestures towards Kitty. “They’re dumb.”

“ _Albus Hallwinter_ ,” Marlena growls, making Al jump. _“_ That is no way to talk about your neighbours! And you, Auntie-” She points accusingly at Kitty. “Stop being’ a bad influence on my kids. That shitty kinda attitude is exactly what makes folks mistrust us in the first place!”

Kitty cocks her skull. Sildar wonders how anyone withstood her glare when she still had a face.

 “ _Child_ , people will mistrust what they cannot comprehend, no matter how kind you are. Your sister was the most patient teacher I’d met in centuries, and even she couldn’t introduce basic magic to the locals. They wouldn’t _let_ her. And I refuse to have sympathy for those who rather play victim then own up to their own incompetence.”

Everyone tenses. Sildar’s mother sits frozen beside him, her jaw clenched. Marlena’s late siblings were always a sore subject for her, but Dolly’s disappearance was particularly fraught.  The wind shuffles the wilted world around them as the family sits in calcified silence.

Marlena breaks the quite with a sudden, fierce melody on her guitar. Sildar shivers, the intensity of the music burrowing into his blood, lighting up his senses. There’s a manic power to it, a frantic, magnetic aura that stems from powerful magic. His mother stands and leers over the dying peony, fixing her gaze on its shriveled form. The melody builds and the petals she’d prodded off drift up to reunite with their flower, the stem straightening slowly with the adjacent blooms, rising like a performer from a bow. As the song slows to a stop the plant stands tall and vibrant, large red blossoms swaying blithely in the heavy air.

Harris untangles himself from the hammock to gawk at the peonies from the top of the stairs. “Uh, _holy shit_ mom?” He says. “What the fuck was _that_?”

“Resurrection,” Marlena says, flatly. “Sorta. It’s a homebrew version Dolly cooked up for crops. It takes elements from Dispel Magic too.” Malena heaves a sigh and lowers her guitar. “It only works on one plant at a time, though, and it’s too high a level to fix a whole field. You’d have to cast it on each individual plant; it would take forever, especially for grain. That was one of the things she was hoping to work on at school.” Marlena gives Kitty a hard look. “Dolly was a good teacher and a real good wizard, too. She understood that magic’s not - Isn’t somethin’ that _belongs_ to ‘smart people’, to academics, or scientist, or two-bit fucking warlords amassing power for power’s sake.  Magic is a thing that belongs to _everyone_ , should benefit _everyone_ , whether they understand it or not. It’s a part of life. Just like death.” She looks down at Sildar, still sitting on the ground. “’N what do we say about death, sweetheart?”

Sildar blinks up at her. “We don’t… fear death. We embrace it?”

Marlena kneels down again and cups her youngest’s cheek with her hand. “Now, what does that _mean_ , baby?”  

Sildar opens his mouth to answer but closes it just as quickly. He’s never thought very hard on the family motto before. He tries looking at his brothers for help but they seem just as confused by the turn this conversation has taken as he is.

Marlena sighs softly and kisses his forehead. “It means the opposite of _fearing_ something _is_ embracing it.” She turns to the rest of her family. “And the way we fight fear, and mistrust, and misunderstanding isn’t by being a fucking _snob_. It’s by embracing and accepting the difficulties they bring. We rise to the challenge. Even when it’s _hard_. Even when you don’t _wanna_.” Marlena ruffles Sildar’s hair, just a little too harshly. “Life’s full of difficult things and difficult people. The only way to make it better is to _be_ better. Get it?”

Sildar nods hesitantly. Marlena studies him a moment before she stands. The rest of the family is silent, but the tension from earlier has mostly bled out.

Marlena grabs her guitar and makes her way to the front door. “I’m running low on slots. I doubt we’re getting any farther on this today, so I’m gonna start working on dinner.”

“I could start it for ya, Len.” Uncle Saul says. “You should take a break. Maybe…I dunno, go for a walk or something.” Sildar thinks he’s trying to catch Kitty’s eye as he speaks, but it’s hard to tell were either of them are really looking. Kitty’s facing away from the house, her empty sockets fixed somewhere in the middle distance.

Marlena smiles at him. “I’m good Saul, thanks. Could you just go check on everyone in the fields? Andy and Ethel still aren’t fully _awake_ yet, I wanna make sure they’re not wandering.”

Saul nods, and Marlena disappears into the house. As soon as she’s out of earshot he turns on Kitty. “Ya couldn’t have left Dolly outta that, could you?”

Kitty let’s a beat go by, face still turned forwards, looking out towards the gate to the Hallwinter’s farm.

“A good necromancer,” She says. “Doesn’t shut down every time someone mentions her dead sister.”  


End file.
